Hollow Night
by Lemon Zinger
Summary: Happy Halloween Fanfiction!


Two long days.

He had been missing for two days before we even knew. I wanted to curse myself for not paying closer attention to the Irregulars, but I had assumed that someone else would've noticed if any of them was missing.

Instead it was two days before Wiggins' disappearance was caught. Scotland Yard was immediately informed as I began to tear apart the sitting room.

"When was he last engaged?" Watson asked me urgently.

"Tuesday, I am looking for the addresses I sent him to scout out now." I said.

"Do you recall any of them?" Watson asked, a sigh of impatience.

"Yes, 582 was one of the house numbers." I replied, throwing up a pile of papers in disgust as I realized it was not among them.

I always made two copies of the places I sent the irregulars so that I had one while they could keep the other. Now I couldn't find it.

"This?" Watson held something in front of my face and I focused on it to see the list I had been looking for.

"Yes!" I cried triumphantly. "Come!"

Grabbing our coats and other supplies to keep us warm we dashed outside into the torrent of a thunderstorm. Even the downpour didn't stop us as we hailed a cab and I gave the first address to the man driving.

We were both quiet. Watson was usually so, but normally when we were dashing off into the night like this it was because I had a case and I would begin to share facts and deductions with him on the journey. I did have a mystery to solve, but I was not enjoying it. I was not glad to be missing one of my irregulars.

Watson looked tense and pale as he looked out the window, seeking a glance of Wiggins I assumed. I wished he would see him, and futile as I thought it be I found myself looking the other way to see if by any chance we might spot him.

We had no luck.

We sprung out of the cab at the first address and found ourselves at a quiet little house that looked abandoned. We went around peeking in the windows and testing the doors to see if they were locked. They were.

I saw no signs of life though, and after an examination of the doorway, I guessed that no one had been in or out in awhile. And the locks showed no signs of being picked.

"Come Watson!" I cried, springing back away to the cab. It was still thundering fiercely as we pulled up at the next address. It was a small shop spaced that had been closed for some time. It was much harder for us to look through the windows and we resorted to going around the back.

I had the lock picked in a matter of minutes and we went inside to see what we would find. Watson had his revolver out and at the ready, but there seemed to be nothing there.

Thud. Bang.

A cat had jumped onto a table and Watson's quick reflexes had fired out of surprise. The cat wasn't harmed; it merely raced away and disappeared up the flight of stairs.

We pursued, but the rooms upstairs looked abandoned and we finally made our way back downstairs and to our cab.

There was one final address, one lead that would hopefully hold the answers to the questions making our hearts pound. I felt like a fool for allowing Wiggins to work with us and wished I would have noticed something was wrong sooner. I was terrified I might have sent the young lad to his death.

As we came to the last address, I we departed the cab and for the third time had the man wait for us. We went to the door and as I tested it, I found it open and cracked. It swung open with a slow screech and Watson again drew his gun. I led the way, shivering a bit. I assumed I was cold from the rain soaking through my coat.  
We searched the kitchen, parlour, and study that made up most of the downstairs before turning to go upstairs, our hearts hoping we did find him.

We came to the top and I noticed a piece of paper was nailed to one of the doors. I stepped towards it and peered at it, trying to make it out. Lightning flashed, illuminating it just long enough.

"For you Mr. Holmes." It read.

I pushed open the door and gasped as I saw the boy swinging from a rope around his neck. He was very pale and I saw a pool of blood beneath him. It took me a moment to realize his fingers and toes were missing. I took another step and slipped. Looking up as I lay on my stomach I realized I was staring at a pile of his toes. My hand was on top of another pile, and his blood was smeared all over my cheek. I let out a hoarse scream. A voice in the distance was calling my name and I fought to get away.

And then felt an immense splash and opened my eyes and sat up simultaneously. I realized I was in my room, my face and chest quite soaked. I saw Watson with a small glass of in his hands, presumably the one that had contained the water.

I couldn't speak. Words were not forming. It was all too real. I knew it was fake, but I had to rub my hands together to reassure myself that there was no blood.

"Holmes good God what is wrong?" Watson asked, setting down the cup and sitting next to me. He sounded more worried than he had in a long time. He grasped my shoulders, shaking me a little. "Holmes?"

I looked at him and opened my mouth, but all that came out was a ragged little gasp. I shuddered and Watson just through his arms around me. I felt so empty and hollow.

How long we sat like that I will never know. The next thing I was aware of was him gently bringing something to my lips. I hadn't slept, I was still sitting upright, but I had been in a daze. I sipped, tasted the brandy, and then took the cup for myself. Watson let go.

"Holmes, please, talk to me." Watson said, sitting on my bed again.

I swallowed. "It was a dream." I managed to say. Since when was that task so difficult?

"A dream?" Watson echoed.

"Yes, simply a dream. Please, Watson, don't ask me to recollect it." I begged him.

It was such a rare request and so unexpected that Watson didn't answer at first.

"Are you certain you are quite alright?" He asked.

"Yes, I'll be fine, now please, just leave the matter go." I said.

Watson nodded his head in acceptance. "Very well Holmes."

I loved him dearly for his discretion, and he never pressed me again about the horror I could not relive.

For several months afterwards, the Irregulars had to report to Watson or I daily.


End file.
